


radio silence

by jemejem



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Twin Telepathy AU, Twinyards Week 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 02:14:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21979690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jemejem/pseuds/jemejem
Summary: Ever since Andrew could remember—which was pretty much forever—he’d had an imaginary friend.
Relationships: Aaron Minyard & Andrew Minyard, Katelyn/Aaron Minyard, Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Comments: 23
Kudos: 249
Collections: Twinyards Appreciation Week 2019





	1. Chapter 1

Ever since Andrew could remember—which was pretty much forever—he’d had an imaginary friend.

Well, sort of. His imaginary friend was a very distinct voice in his head called Aaron, who didn’t like his mother because she would always hit him, and leave him locked in his room whilst she went off with needles and men. Andrew was sometimes perplexed at how specific his imagination could be.

Aaron knew about Samuel, and James, and Harrison, because Andrew had told him, hidden away in a small, dark closet with his body shaking and aching. _Why do they touch you?_ Aaron had asked, sounding upset. Probably because Andrew was upset, too.

 _I don’t know,_ his seven-year-old self had whimpered, lost and scared and alone. _I don’t know._

Imaginary friends fell out of fashion pretty fast when Andrew finally went to school: Andrew Doe, the foster kid. Andrew Doe, the weirdo who talked to himself. Don’t go near the short one: He’s a freak.

He spent his time instead in the small, decrepit libraries that those schools had to offer, hiding in the corner with a book that was probably too hard for him to read but he didn’t care: He waddled through it, Aaron asking about what happened at the end of every chapter. He couldn’t read as well as Andrew could. Probably because he wasn’t real.

It was the realisation that Aaron was most certainly a detailed, intricate figure of Andrew’s imagination that forced him to stop talking to him. This lasted for years: The silence was almost echoey in Andrew’s head as he moved from home to home, none of them any good.

Until Cass.

She was warm and gentle. She baked him cookies and taught him how. Richard took him to the movies and drove him too and from school. They were the kindest people Andrew had ever met, and Andrew clung onto them fervently.

Then Drake, their son, came home. He was tall and broad shouldered and smiled like a wolf: He pinned Andrew down into the mattress and Andrew wished his pillows would just swallow him. Mornings were spent squirrelling away bloodied sheets and staring at himself in the mirror as hopeless tears rolled over young adolescent cheeks. _Why me?_ He’d thought, desperate. _Why me?_

 _Andrew,_ Aaron said, astonished after all the years of radio silence. _Is that you?_

“You’re not real.” Andrew whispered. “You’re not real.”

_Is something wrong? Something has to be wrong. Are you hurt?_

Andrew ignored him in favour of finding the razor tucked under the spare face clothes in the sink’s spare drawer. When he climbed into the shower, he watched the water dilute his blood, and thought of the way that everything had a cost.

*

Officer Phil Higgins was an overbearing man who knew Andrew from a program for troubled kids within his area, where he gathered them all into a circle and forced them into bonding activities. Board games. Backyard baseball. ‘Buddy’ forming activities. Andrew was required to go, due to his ‘lacking social skills’, but he almost never participated. The pig never pushed him, never asked why he wore black long-sleeves in the middle of a Californian summer and never encroached on Andrew’s personal space, which was why Andrew continued to put up with the man’s antics.

The only actual conversation he and the pig ever had was when the man held Andrew back after one afternoon session, much to Andrew’s irritation.

“I went to a baseball game on the weekend,” he said, like it was something Andrew wanted to hear. “I met someone very interesting.”

Andrew stepped out of his space and made for the exit: When Phil said “Andrew, please listen,” he stood, the revolted shudder making the entire frame of his body tremble. He glanced over his shoulder for merely a second, but the officer took his chance. “I met a boy just like you. He looked _identical_ to you. I think you might have been separated in the system at birth. His name is Aaron.”

That was enough for Andrew, who sprinted away from Phil’s curious gaze. In a brief lapse of control, he silently yelled at Aaron: _You’re real?_

_Yes. Are you?_

_Yes,_ Andrew thought, devastated.

_I met a police officer, today. He said that you’re real, Andrew. That you’re here, in California. Are you? Can I see you?_

_Fuck off,_ Andrew snarled, wishing he could run away from the voice inside his own fucking head. He didn’t want Aaron anywhere near the Spear family, with Cass’s gentle hugs and Richard’s genuine laughs. He didn’t want Aaron near Drake’s malicious intentions, facing the same fate that Andrew did every night. _Fuck off, don’t talk to me, don’t come near me._

_Andrew—_

Andrew shut himself inside his bedroom and made a feral snarling noise, wishing he could cut Aaron out of his head. Rain splattered carelessly against the small window of the bathroom, so uncharacteristic of California’s sunny skies and relentless cheer that he had to look away.

Everything was wrong. Everything was _so_ wrong.

It wasn’t until the pig himself came over and explained to Cass and Richard what had happened that Andrew decided to do something preventative: From the hallway, Drake grinned, fisting a tuft of Andrew’s hair in his too-tight grasp.

“We’ll have so much fun together,” He whispered against the shell of Andrew’s ear. “The three of us. Won’t that be exciting?”

That night, Andrew crept out with a flask of gasoline from Richard’s shed and a box of matches before Drake could sneak his way into Andrew’s room, walking to his school under the veneer of darkness.

He watched the baseball pitch burn, sitting in the batter’s cage and letting the heat lick his sweat from his skin. When the police arrived he went gladly.

“Don’t let there be any more kids,” Andrew insisted as he was being shoved into a cruiser. Phil Higgins looked at him, perplexed. “Promise me that there won’t be anymore.”

“Andrew, what are you talking about?”

It was useless. He burrowed into the corner of the police car and let the cool metal of his handcuffs around his bloody wrists draw him out of his head.

He did it for Aaron. He did it for the voice in his head, who could be real after all.

If that didn’t make him insane, he didn’t know what did.

*

The first time Andrew and Aaron met—in the parking lot of the Seattle Juvenile Detention Facility—they’d just stared at each other. Their mother had been too sick to come all the way to greet him, something about a chronic illness that probably wasn’t very chronic. Instead Luther and Maria, and their squirrelly son Nicholas, welcomed Andrew with open arms.

“We’re very glad to have you,” Luther said.

“Let’s go home,” Maria insisted.

They sat in the back of the rental car, venturing back to the airport with Nicky sitting purposefully between the two brothers. Forever an ice-breaker.

 _Andrew?_ Aaron asked, hesitantly. Andrew looked out the window. _Please—I just want to know if I’m actually insane or not._

 _I hate that word,_ Andrew said, scathingly. Aaron looked down to where his hands were entangled in his lap.

 _Sorry,_ he said, and actually sounded like he meant it. He was kinda pathetic. Andrew finally looked around Nicky at his brother, who caught his eye. Aaron was littered with bruises and sickly pale, even if he tried to cover it up with his loose polo shirt.

 _Does she hurt you?_ Andrew asked.

_Andrew—_

_I asked you a fucking question._

Slowly, Aaron nodded. Andrew settled back into his chair and glared at the seat in front of him, Maria’s tangle of curls peeking through the gap between the chair’s headrest and body, wondering what kind of woman Tilda Minyard would be, to give up one son and not the other, and then treat the one she had like shit. Ideas wafted across the empty expanse of his mind, forcefully blank to avoid exploitation.

That was fine. Andrew would cross that bridge when he came to it.

*

“No.” Andrew said. It was the first time Andrew had ever spoken to Luther, six months since being initiated into the Minyard-Hemmick household. He’d spent that time convincing Aaron of his plan to get rid of their biological mother, who continued to hit Aaron even when Andrew warned her not to. Aaron didn’t want his mother to die. 

(She’s family, Andrew, he’d said silently. She’s family. Andrew had just looked at him and reminded him that _he_ was family, and that they had always been there for each other, and that there was no way he’d leave Aaron now.) 

“No?” Luther inquired. “But Cass and Richard would love to see you. They were very shocked when you were arrested. They’d wanted to adopt you, Andrew.”

“No.” Andrew insisted, voice hoarse. “You do not let them anywhere near Aaron.”

Luther still wasn’t sold. “Why not?”

“Drake - he -” _Raped me. Because someone always was._

Luther’s smile was beseeching and patronising, and drained every last rivulet of energy from within Andrew, who was exhausted and angry at the world. He’d just found his family - why was fate so insistent on tearing it away from him again? 

“I’m sure it was just a misunderstanding, Andrew.”

_Misunderstanding. Misunderstanding. Misunderstanding._

Right. Of course. 

Andrew turned on his heel and marched out of Luther’s perfect little living room, where he was sat on the white linen couches with a cup of tea and his little wooden cross on the mantelpiece. By the time Andrew had grabbed his coat from the Hemmick’s pristine entrance corridor and ignored Maria’s inquiry about staying for dinner, the plan was already in place. 

People always underestimated the lengths to which Andrew would go to protect what little family he had: He supposed that lack of insight about Andrew’s limits would come in handy when orchestrating everything under their noses. The only person who knew him, really, was Aaron, but he spent most of his time hooked up on their mother’s shit to read whatever Andrew was up to now. 

Andrew would kill Tilda. Nicky would come back from Germany. Luther would forget all about the Spears, and Aaron would be safe. 

Perfect. 

*


	2. Chapter 2

Andrew supposed he’d deserved it when Aaron went silent on him after Tilda died and Andrew forcefully shut Aaron into the bathroom of their new place to get clean, but it was still never _silent._

There was always someone there at the other end of the line. Someone breathing down the phone, waiting to hear whatever you said. It was comforting only because it was all Andrew had ever known, unable to fathom what it was like to be completely alone.

When Andrew had been forced onto his medication after his perhaps over-enthusiastic response to Nicky being pushed around by a bunch of assholes outside Eden’s, a new kind of buzzing filled his head. 

Static. Grainy, grainy static. An external pressure, squeezing around his temples like his head was stuck in the clouds, thousands of miles above normal altitude. He hated the way it felt but there was nothing he could do about it, the grin curling on his lips without consent.

The first time Aaron had spoken to him in months was in the quiet of a dark kitchen. Nicky was asleep in his room. Andrew was making hot cocoa and unable to sleep because he’d taken his dosage too late. He’d noticed Aaron lingering by the kitchen’s entrance and refused to say anything, letting the false cheer dangle off the tip of his spoon as he watched droplets of hot cocoa slip off the aluminium surface, back into his mug. It’d long gone cold.

“I can’t hear you,” Aaron said, finally finding his spine to talk to his loony twin. “I can’t—reach out to you. It’s silent.”

“Well,” Andrew drawled, tempted to laugh. “Isn’t that a shame?”

“I hate it,” Aaron hissed, contradictory in every way. “We’ve never—we’ve never been apart before. I _hate_ it. Can’t we—can’t you appeal?”

“Oh, Aaron,” Andrew lamented, hand over his heart. His brother’s vulnerabilities were cute, but there was no way Andrew would share his own. Not out loud. “You should go cry to someone who’s capable of caring. Because that person is definitely not me.” He grinned, arching an eyebrow.

“This isn’t you,” Aaron said, resolutely. As he paced back into the hallway, he repeated himself. “This isn’t you.”

Andrew simply laughed.

*

“On one condition,” Andrew said, pointing at Wymack and almost poking the old man in the chest. “My brother and cousin come on the team, too. And I get to come off my meds for games.”

Aaron startled. It was the first time Andrew had ever hinted that he, too, hated the loneliness.

*

When Kevin stumbled into Wymack’s apartment with a shattered hand, Andrew had laughed, pointing at him with a bottle of booze in his hand.

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen!” He crowed. Kevin glared and did not laugh.

Pity. Aaron probably would’ve appreciated that.

*

 _Andrew,_ Aaron had whispered, sickeningly relieved as the curtain between them parted, their minds severed no more.

It would only be for another half hour or so, before Andrew had to take his dose at half time. He looked at his brother, watching the way relief wormed down Aaron’s spine and had him grip his racket harder.

It was their first game on the line. Most of the team hated Andrew and his merry band of monsters, of which had grown from three to four when Kevin promised Andrew that he would find him something to live for after his medicated euphoria eventually wore off. It was a lousy promise at best: Andrew had no disillusions about finding satisfaction in his life, and no desire to lie to himself either. Kevin’s miserable obsession with Exy couldn’t fill the gaping wound that’d been carved into Andrew’s chest the minute that Tilda left him in the plastic bucket of baby rejects.

The connection with Aaron strengthened as the withdrawal kicked up, sped up by the gruelling game. The Foxes lost, because of course they did, and Andrew faked a laugh to convince everyone in the arena that he wasn’t deviating from his parole.

 _Until next game,_ Aaron said, as Andrew swallowed the pills. He was too physically wretched to stifle the weak nod. Kevin looked between them, eyes narrowed. He’d probably figure it out, just like Nicky had a long while ago, but neither of them would say anything. It was best to just pretend that the twins hated each other, just like everyone else assumed.

Andrew was comfortable in the shadows of those assumptions. The four of them settled into the strange routine, dodging Riko and his Ravens and spending nights under the haze of cracker dust and alcohol.

Though he wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, he knew Aaron was counting down the days till Andrew could come off the medications.

He, admittedly, was too.

*

Andrew was suddenly glad that Aaron could not hear his loudest thoughts most of the time, when Neil Josten rocked up, a bundle of lies and a bigger bundle of threats.

He was brown haired and brown eyed and barely tall enough to fit all his too-intricate stories within, and yet there he was, able to tell the difference between him and Aaron immediately, running away from Columbia in a feverish demand for freedom, stood in Wymack’s living room with half-truths tolerable enough for Andrew to swallow.

If Aaron could hear the way Andrew’s mind twisted and turned over Neil Fucking Josten, he’d be mighty suspicious.

Worse was when Neil began _asking._ And Andrew let himself _answer._ Worse was the way Neil practised honesty enough to keep Andrew intrigued but continually lied like an animal licking a wound it should just leave alone.

Thanksgiving came and went.

The real nightmare was the weekend after.

Andrew had never grown used to the static, not in the four years he’d been medicated, especially not when he let his shield against the world drop occasionally, for games or for nights at Eden’s. It was enough that neither him, nor Aaron, really got used to the absence. The absess.

He walked up the stairs to where Luther had promised him liquor, opening the door to Nicky’s old bedroom. It was dark, curtains drawn and the rust on the lock suspiciously etched, like it’d been tested recently. If Andrew was capable of conjuring warning bells through the cloud that surrounded him, he’d be hearing them ringing like they did in a bad man’s chapel on a Sunday morning.

One moment, he was staring a fully-fledged nightmare, dead between the eyes. The next his bottle of Blue came careening through the air, and the trickle of liquid down Andrew’s scalp was a strange concoction of hot blood and iced spirits, glass shards just to make it interesting.

It was like a waltz. One, two, three. One, two, three. One: Hand around Andrew’s neck. Two: Whispered words in his ear. Three: Seconds Andrew had to contemplate _why him,_ like he was thirteen again. One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two—

“Andrew,” Aaron snarled, more terrified for Andrew than he was of himself. He’d always known exactly who Drake was, who the Spears were: He’d almost been there. He’d certainly heard every one of Andrew’s broken cadences, desperately searching for an out.

And yet there he stood, bloodied, with Neil’s racket in his hands and blood across his face. Andrew couldn’t hear himself, not when he laughed, not when he demanded if the blood was Aaron’s, not when Luther appeared in the doorway clutching the silver cross that dangled across his throat.

 _Remember?_ Andrew laughed. Cackled. _Remember when you insisted it was just a misunderstanding?_

“He told you, and you still brought him here?” Aaron said, cold, furious. They were closer and more intricately woven than anyone knew, Andrew clutching onto Aaron’s bloodied shirt as Neil covered him up with a sheet, laughter still wracking his body like a bloody cough. “Get out. _Get out!”_

Wasn’t it just niche, the way everything worked out. Aaron was lugged off in police custody whilst Andrew was strapped to a stretcher, paramedics shining light into his eyes. He was still buzzing too high off the ground to reach out to Aaron and see if he was alright, because even if Andrew cared about nothing, Aaron’s survival was still imperative. He’d fought so long for it, after all.

Neil offered himself up as Kevin’s leash, like he wasn’t fulfilling that role already. He shoved Andrew’s hand under his shirt and gave him his true name and Andrew was _spinning._ He was dancing so close to the edge. He’d laugh if he wasn’t so fucking terrified of losing control all over again.

“You’re not going to say goodbye to Aaron?” Abby asked, when Betsy had filched him from the comfort of his room to take him to Easthaven.

“Can’t say goodbye if you never said hello in the first place,” Andrew said, cheerfully as he skipped his way to the front door. None of them would truly understand the significance of that statement, that Andrew and Aaron had _never_ said hello, nor goodbye. There was no need if they never left you alone.

He ignored the way Neil watched him as he left, ignored the idle chatter Betsy filled the car with, ignored the introduction of his psychiatric team.

In hindsight, perhaps he should have taken more care. It was too late now.

*

 _Andrew,_ Aaron breathed, when the fogginess lifted perhaps two weeks later. He had no way of telling, really. Andrew had his head in a bucket, the smooth plastic his constant view. Aaron’s voice was—admittedly—a comfort. _Andrew, are you alright?_

 _You still behind bars?_ Andrew asked, craning his neck as he settled back into his stiff, unforgiving bed and its cold, unyielding sheets.

_Matt’s mom paid my bail. We’re heading up to New York for Christmas as thanks._

_You’re not telling me something._

Aaron made a derisive noise. Andrew was always the more perceptive one. _Neil knows._

_How._

_He figured it out. I don’t know how. He told me to tell you not to let Proust near you before he left yesterday._

_Left where?_

_Uncle was in town apparently. Wouldn’t look anyone in the eye._

_Liar, through and through._

_Be careful, Andrew. I have a hunch that Neil’s got privy information. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, but it seemed valid._

_Thanks for the input,_ Andrew thought, sourly. Aaron snorted. _Now, fuck off._

 _I hated the silence,_ Aaron offered.

Andrew stared silently out of the metal grate that covered his window, the bleak clouds and wind-swept trees.

As a form of peace offering with the only person who’d always been there for him, he said: _Me too._

*

_I’ve met a girl. Promise me you won’t hurt her._

_I won’t if she gives me no reason to._

_Her name is Katelyn. She makes me happy. Scare her off when you get back and I will tell everyone that you waited for months after our 11th birthday for your letter to Hogwarts._

_Bold of you to assume I wouldn’t kill you first._

_*_

Andrew walked out of his room and down the familiar corridors of his ward, beady eyes peering out at someone who was walking free. He was directed by Dr. Whoeverthefuck, clipboard under his arm and a haughty expression scrawled across his narrow features.

There was a bit of talking. Nicky called out his name, concern obvious and sickening and too much. Kevin was evaluating, Neil was curious and Aaron just looked at him blankly, like he always did. They didn’t need expressions or emotions or even spoken words to communicate. It was just enough to be. So when Andrew marched straight for the exit and threw his ward-stay clothes in the bin, Aaron wasn’t phased, following along closely behind.

Andrew held out the keys for Neil, who passed them over without a qualm. Good. He didn’t feel like arguing with Neil now, when he felt scraped out and broken down into tiny little fragments. Neil said nothing, his garishly blue eyes darting between Aaron and Andrew, perhaps a little too obviously for Neil’s liking. He had a bandage under his eye and bruises littering what little exposed skin Andrew could see, the red curls falling in tresses over his ears.

 _Why are you looking at him like that?_ Aaron muttered, climbing into the car. Andrew turned away from Neil sharply, clambering into the driver’s seat and slamming it behind him.

He kept the music loud enough to drown out Aaron’s curious prodding, refusing to look in the rear-view where Neil was sat, looking wistfully out of the window. Even Nicky was quiet, unsure of how to approach Andrew when he hadn’t really spoken to the man sober in four and a half years.

The drive was too fast. Aaron shuffled Nicky and Kevin inside the tower with little more than a brief _you should take a nap, or at least have some coffee, before you face the others,_ like Andrew was still a prickly toddler.

Neil wasn’t as easily swayed. He reached under the driver’s seat to grab his stalker binder, bound in a plastic bag, before Andrew even had the chance to move out of the way. He couldn’t say he minded the proximity, even when the way Neil looked at him when Andrew accused him of breaking his promise made his heart skip.

“I hope Aaron warned you off Proust,” Neil murmured. “Riko said if I didn’t go, he would—“

His hand covered Neil’s mouth before he could let another treacherous word past his lips. Andrew fucking hated him. He fucking _hated_ him.

  
Proust had entered his room in the early hours of an average morning, smiling beseechingly. Andrew refused to talk to him, instead threatening the nurse that came in after Proust’s session that if he ever caught Proust in his vicinity again, he would break the man’s neck.

The doctor was kept well away from Andrew after that.

“I don’t need your protection, or your condolences.” He snapped.

“No, I suppose not.” He echoed. “Have you and Aaron always been able to hear one another? I thought it was an urban myth.”

“Shut up.” Andrew said, voice more of a snarl than he intended it to be. Neil was making his control slip and he hadn’t even been back for a half hour yet. “I hate you.”

“I know.” Neil said, easily.

*


	3. Chapter 3

Now that Andrew was sober, the sessions really became more Andrew, Betsy _and_ Aaron. Andrew relayed Aaron’s thoughts to Betsy continually, as they wormed their way through things more untouched and treacherous. Andrew had once laughed and claimed it didn’t feel right to talk about them without Aaron, with the drugs in his system, with his grasp on his vocal filter about as solid as a dewy spider’s web.

So they talked out Drake. And Samuel. And James. And Harrison. It was only when they’d stepped through all thirteen of Andrew’s homes, each just as spectacular as the next, that they landed on the Minyard household.

Betsy noticed the way that Andrew loathed talking about the injustices his family had endured whilst under his protection: He could talk blatantly about his own childhood horrors, but as soon as he relayed Aaron’s conflicting emotions to their mother’s timely death, he grew agitated. Betsy was able to read Andrew almost implicitly nowadays and leaned forward when the furrow in Andrew’s brow deepened and deepened, his ankle crossing over his knee, tucking under his thigh, resting over his other ankle.

“She was nothing but the carcass that squeezed us out and then left us for dead.” Andrew said, such harsh words contradicting his emotionally devoid status. “I wasn’t going to let you hurt her, and I wasn’t going to let Luther bring Drake near you. I did what I had to do.”

Betsy understood this as the premeditated matricide Andrew had subtly hinted towards before. She was obliged to tell the police of any crime entailing the harm of others, but reaching for the phone was the last thing she would ever do.

“Andrew,” she offered, instead. “Tell Aaron that he should schedule a session with me, too. It will carry on in a similar fashion. Perhaps, eventually, we could work on the two of you sitting in at the same time.”

Andrew’s gaze were screwed with focus as he listened to Aaron’s voice. Betsy wondered what that would sound like, what that would _feel_ like, constantly having someone there. It was a psychological phenomenon that was inexplainable: She felt as though it was her responsibility to help both the Minyard boys work with the gift they had, and the trouble pasts they’d inexplicably shared.

Things would have been much worse, she assumed, if they didn’t have that connection from the minute they were breathing. She could imagine it: A frigid, cold war, fraught with dangerous misinterpretations and lapses in communication. They kept each other human: Those drugs had taken away something so privy to them that it was a relief to see them relieved to hear one another once more.

And whilst Aaron was often angry and callous, and Andrew destructive and apathetic, Betsy knew she’d made the right choice.

*

“Hello,” Betsy said, smiling at the both of them.

Their respective ‘weaknesses’, though Betsy knew affection was never a weakness, had convinced them both to participate in the double sessions, taking over Andrew’s original Wednesday slot.

When Neil and Katelyn had inquired about the chances of the twins healing properly under Betsy’s guidance, Betsy had known that these two were good for the Minyard boys. They cared in all the right ways.

The twins looked at each other, moving in a mirror-like fashion.

Betsy laughed softly. “You’ll both need to speak out loud if we’re going to get anywhere.” She stood up, took the hot cocoa flask and two mugs from her shelf, and settled back down on the couch.

Aaron refused to drink, so Andrew took his share.

It was slow, but it wasn’t stagnant. They slowly revealed their world to her, stories so interconnected and intricate that she could only sip on her hot cocoa and marvel.

“Would you be interested in meeting twins like you?” She asked, as the session drew to a close. “Its a rare phenomenon, but it’s not unheard of. Maybe they could provide some insight on how to balance the strong emotional linkage and one’s sense of self.”

Neither seemed particularly enthused, but she could see their respective sparks of curiousity.

She’d get through to them yet. All it took was time.

*


	4. Chapter 4

Aaron did not like Neil Josten. He hadn’t from the start. He was quiet until he was loud-mouthed, he was pathetic until he berated a psychopath on national television, and he was flighty until he socked said psychopath in the mouth. To sum it up: He was a walking contradiction.

It made sense that Andrew would be enamoured with him.

Andrew had told him that Easthaven had been uneventful, and that he hadn’t let Proust near him. Aaron supposed he had Josten to thank for that. It didn’t mean Josten had the right to fuck his brother, especially when it seemed that he was jumping off his ‘I don’t swing’ high horse right into his brother’s bed.

Aaron wasn’t an idiot: He’d suspected Andrew was gay for a long while. He’d known there was something different about Josten, even before Thanksgiving.

So when the idiot had gotten himself kidnapped, it wasn’t surprising that Andrew lost his shit.

Andrew’s version of ‘losing his shit’ was distinctly more conservative than one might suspect: He came back with Josten’s duffel and racket with corpselight in his eyes. He’d sat in the corner of the bus with Neil’s phone and gone over his call history, the texts in his deleted folder. Aaron watched the way Andrew’s shoulders curled, a spring wound tighter and tighter and tighter.

 _I’ll look up that area code,_ Aaron offered, when the number _443_ kept circling in Andrew’s mind, loud enough for Aaron to hear without prompting. A quick search yielded an unexpected result.

_Baltimore._

Andrew’s gaze snapped up to Kevin. “What’s in Baltimore?”

Kevin went white.

Matt, Aaron and Renee had to wrench Andrew back from genuinely snapping Kevin’s neck. _We won’t find him if you kill Kevin, Andrew. Andrew, listen to me. Do you want to find Neil?_ Renee was sat across his lap, Aaron holding down his elbows. _Andrew. Stop._

“Get off me,” He snarled. Aaron did as he was told, staying close and holding Andrew’s gaze as he breathed heavily, cheeks flushed with anger he hadn’t seen Andrew express in years.

The story tumbled out of Kevin’s mouth haphazardly, voice hoarse with the damage Andrew had done to his throat. When he was finished, Aaron watched him retreat into his corner again, staring listlessly out the window as Wymack nosed the bus further north instead.

Hurting Kevin was one thing, but watching Andrew reunite with Neil was a different monster entirely. Aaron watched from a distance as Andrew fell to his knees and battled with the way anger and relief. When Neil switched to German and told Andrew what’d happened, Aaron ignored his words, instead watching the way his brother’s eyes flickered over every burn and cut and bruise, fingers harsh as they wound themselves in the thread-bare, bloodied hoodie Neil wore but infinitely gentle over his injuries.

Aaron wondered if he looked at Katelyn like that.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Andrew said, bowing his head closer to Neil’s with his fingers fisted in his obnoxious red curls.

Aaron _almost_ told Andrew that he was fucking whipped to all hell, but Andrew had been through enough. Instead, he watched Andrew as he stood and followed Neil out with the other federal agents, and said _don’t do anything stupid. Including Neil._

Andrew only responded with a scathing _fuck you._

*

Aaron walked into the cabin and let the familiarity wash over him. It was six years since the Foxes had stayed here for a week on Allison’s forgiving dime, six years since the nightmarish weekend in Baltimore. He looked much the same, Aaron noted (but with old scars instead of bandages and a new brand of confidence holding up his chin), still with the haunted blue eyes and scowl of his lips.

His brother still stood, tucked into Neil’s hip. And Aaron—well, Aaron couldn’t fault Neil for it any longer. He’d stayed by Andrew’s side all through college, and now, through two years of Andrew’s professional career, one of his own. He was trading in the off-season to Andrew’s team, which meant Aaron would get more peace and quiet now that Andrew wouldn’t be so lonely.

The cabin was just the same, too. New countertops in the kitchen and covers for the pillows didn’t dissuade the character of the place. Aaron had never found affection and friendship in his Fox family, but it was familiar and safe being with the nine of them. He wouldn’t trade that for anything.

They talked about old memories. They asked about their respective careers. Renee had been off hiking last Spring, so it was nice to see the way Andrew leaned towards her, talking quietly under the din of music and an Exy game playing in the background.

Aaron wandered off when the sun was just about setting with his beer, enjoying the cool breeze where he leaned against the railing. He took a photo for Katelyn and sent it: She didn’t respond, only because she was also away with her Vixens. It worked out well: They always took this week off in Spring and took an extended moment away from one another. Living together, med-school, residency planning and mentorships were a lot.

He’d propose to her soon. Maybe in the summer. It wasn’t like they hadn’t talked about it: They’d both agreed that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together. Marriage was just, undoubtedly, a big-ass deal. He’d gone to Nicky’s wedding, and helped with probably 95% of the planning procedures. He wasn’t sure he was ready for that chaos.

The door behind him slip open. Aaron didn’t look back, expecting his brother: He startled when Neil stood next to him instead, sipping on what was probably his brother’s glass of whiskey.

 _What is your menace doing out here?_ Aaron inquired, sending Neil the appropriate scathing look.

 _I don’t own him,_ Andrew answered, an amused drawl in his tone. Aaron huffed.

“Remember when you tried to punch me with mummified hands?” Aaron remarked, resting his beer against his ankle and straightening up again. “Pathetic.”

“Remember when you accused me of using your brother?” Neil arched an eyebrow. “That was the shittiest shovel talk I’ve ever heard.”

“You’ve only heard one.” Aaron grunted. “Monogamous fuck.”

He was really just talking about him and Andrew: They were settlers at heart. Neil knew this and snorted at the irony.

“Speaking of,” Neil murmured. “Andrew wanted me to invite you to something.”

Aaron narrowed his eyes suspiciously at his brother’s boyfriend, who backtracked slowly with a small smile playing across his lips. His hand subconsciously drifted to the hollow of his throat, playing at the collar of his t-shirt. Aaron noticed the new silver chain around his neck and felt a strange tightness in his chest.

“Text me the details,” Aaron said, looking back out to the sun which had just managed to disappear beyond the horizon.

Neil disappeared inside, quiet.

 _Are you messing with me?_ Aaron asked.

 _No clue what you’re talking about,_ Andrew responded, cooly.

_I can’t believe you’re getting married before me._

_Everyone’s invited to ours for 4th of July,_ Andrew said, ignoring Aaron entirely. _That’ll be the reception, but you and Matt will get there the day before to be witnesses at the courthouse. Katelyn can come, unless you open your mouth._

Aaron snorted. _Nicky is going to fucking shit himself._

Andrew simply hummed.

*


	5. Chapter 5

Their apartment was spacious and well furnished, but nothing had made it feel more like a home than having Neil live with him.

It’d only been a month or so after Neil’s permanent arrival when they were officially married. The whole ordeal was a little strange. They dressed nice enough for perhaps a press conference, Andrew wearing a black turtleneck sweater he knew Neil loved, and his nicest leather shoes. He’d dressed Neil, because of course he had: he looked trim and proper in a navy button down, but the elegance was ruined by the sappy look on his face.

“Makes me feel a little spontaneous.” Neil admitted, climbing out of the Maserati in a parking garage nearby the courthouse. “Like we’re running away to California together.”

Andrew had to roll his eyes at that: if they were running away, it’d be in the opposite trajectory to California. Neil knew this and smiled a little wider, linking their fingers together.

“Let’s get those tax benefits, yeah?” He nudged their shoulders together. Andrew shoved his hand into the back pocket of Neil’s slacks: his husband-to-be just laughed.

Andrew never thought he’d be married. He’d known that he would stay by Neil for as long as the man would let him, was willing to admit that Neil was _his_ partner, like Aaron was _his_ brother, and Nicky was _his_ cousin. Marriage itself was a construct that he loathed to abide by, but Neil wasn’t exactly wrong. It was the most efficient method of ensuring that he would be allowed to stay by Neil’s side when he inevitably got himself bowled over and sent to the ER, that he could assign Neil as the benefactor for his life insurance and assets, that Neil had his back as much as he had Neil’s.

Plus, Andrew hated the term _partner._ It was so invariably vague. Boyfriend was too small, soulmate was too romanticised, but husband fit nicely. It was loyalty and security and home, and that was Neil in a nutshell.

Neil brushed a kiss to Andrew’s knuckles before letting go as they stepped out onto the sidewalk, keeping a practised distance as they walked down the street. They waited in line for ten minutes to be filtered through to the officiant. That was where Aaron was, always early. Matt had yet to arrive, predictably late.

 _You look nice,_ Aaron said, with a mildly disapproving tone. _But a turtleneck? To your own wedding?_

Andrew shrugged. _Neil gets horny for this sweater._

Aaron made a scathing noise, startling Neil out of his quietude. _You’re tactless._ Andrew merely snorted.

“Not all of us are privy to your twin talk,” Neil said, wryly. “Aaron only looks like that when you talk about me. What did you say?”

Aaron stood up and crossed his arms, stalking to the other side of the room in an obvious attempt to disengage from the conversation. Andrew lowered his voice and leaned across the small sofa to brush his lips over the shell of Neil’s ear. “He was criticising my choice of shirt. I told him it doesn’t matter when it’s just going to end up on our floor.”

Neil grinned, fingers twitching over the bicep muscle above his elbow crease. “Well, it _is_ our wedding night. Did we have any other plans?”

That was when Matt bustled in, prompting the start of the ceremony. Andrew held Neil’s fingers loosely, ignoring his brother’s calculative gaze and Matt’s over-emotional sniffles as the officiant read out the vows. They’d stuck with the stock-brand, seeing as the officiant wouldn’t appreciate Neil’s tasteless _now you can hate me forever,_ and Andrew’s scathing _if you ever tell me ‘thank you, you were amazing’ again, I’m getting a divorce_ in response.

They didn’t kiss. Neil did, however, brush his finger under Andrew’s eye and smiled his perfect smile.

“Let’s go home,” he said.

Andrew nodded.

*

The day after was undoubtedly the most chaotic day of Andrew’s life. Neil wasn’t usually the type to get into a tizzy, but the thought of revealing the fact he and Andrew had just gotten married to his family made him all kinds of anxious. He spent the day cooking five variants of shit that was just food to Andrew, berating Aaron from where he was lounging on the couch and letting Matt pet his hair because he was too distracted by Kevin blowing up his phone.

 _Katelyn’s getting here early,_ Aaron said. Andrew just grunted in response, laying down on the perpendicular sect of his L-shaped couch. Their heads were close together, Aaron’s eyes already closed despite it only being two in the afternoon.

 _Congratulations on your marriage,_ Aaron muttered wearily. _Don’t think this means you can wriggle out of a best man speech at mine._

 _I fucking hate you,_ Andrew allowed, closing his eyes and settling in next to his twin. He cracked his eye open once, when Neil bustled in from the kitchen only to freeze at the sight of the two of them, napping on the couch. He flipped his husband off and ignored the grin, closing his eyes once more.

He wondered what his life would’ve been like if he and Aaron had been together in the system, or with Tilda. If it hadn’t taken until the age of thirteen for them to figure out that the other was real.

Aaron pondered over Andrew’s thoughts. _I think it’s worked out well enough, in the end._

 _Yes,_ Andrew allowed. _It has._

Katelyn arrived with a smile and a basket of goodies, none of which were patriotic themed. She definitely knew, then, winking at Andrew and slipping into the kitchen to deliver her gifts. Aaron stayed on the couch, waiting till she came back to brush her hand over his cheek to open his eyes. It was too strange to watch something he and Neil did often from the outside, sitting up from the couch and stalking outside onto the balcony.

The sun was slowly crawling towards the horizon, the summer heat shimmering against Andrew’s skin. Their apartment was south-east facing, meaning the sunset was usually visible if you leant on the railing and looked to the right. Andrew kept his gaze on the horizon, ignoring the lurch of ingrained fear in his stomach with practised ease.

The balcony doors opened quietly. It wasn’t Neil, careful as he was, nor was it Aaron, and Matt had no reason to come out here. Andrew ignored the spike of curiosity as Katelyn appeared at his side, holding a cup of herbal tea.

“I heard the ceremony was efficient.” She said, lightly. “I don’t know why Aaron expected anything else. He _does_ know you, after all that time in each other’s heads.”

Andrew decided to entertain her obvious attempt at conversation. Years ago he’d probably put a knife to her throat, but he’d promised Aaron not to hurt her. If that meant giving Katelyn an inch, he’d allow it. “When did he tell you?”

“When you were in rehab,” she admitted. “He was lost in his mind for hours at a time. I knew something was up.” She smiled lightly, taking a sip of her tea. “For what it’s worth, I wanted to thank you. For being there for him. For going along with Neil and I’s therapy ploy.”

“It was a pathetic attempt at best,” Andrew grumbled, sipping his beer. Katelyn merely laughed.

After a little while of quiet (which wasn’t as uncomfortable as he’d assumed it would be), Andrew sighed.

“Thank you for being there for him in ways I can’t,” he allowed, a peace-offering.

Katelyn smiled brilliantly. “You’re a good brother.” After draining her tea, she winked at him. “You’ll be a good uncle, too.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered.

“We were thinking about making you and Neil the godfathers,” Katelyn mused. “Perhaps Neil would appreciate the joke.”

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Nicky would throw a fit if you didn’t bestow him a title better than ‘first cousin, once removed’.”

Katelyn laughed. “That’s what we thought, too.” She leaned back off the railing and made to move inside. “Congratulations on getting married, Andrew. I’ll be sure to make Aaron send you the ultrasounds.”

He made a dismissive noise, looking back out to the horizon as he heard his family clamour around inside his apartment, the din slowly growing louder till he was sure that all his Foxes had arrived.

The next time the balcony door slid open, it was Neil. He tucked his fingers into the pocket of his jeans, bringing out the silver wedding bands they’d purchased just an hour before the wedding. When Neil slid Andrew’s ring onto his finger, it fit snugly, the metal already warmed from its brief touches to Neil’s skin.

He wove their fingers together and Andrew allowed an uncharacteristically gentle kiss to the cheek.

“Hurry up, junkie,” Andrew muttered, wilfully forcing his cheeks to un-blush. “Your family is waiting.”

“ _Our_ family,” Neil reminded him. Stiffly, Andrew nodded, looking away from the pleased crinkle to his husband’s eyes.

He’d get used to it. One day at a time.

*


End file.
